As they crossed the river bend, a second ship came in sight. Aitor rushed to the side and peered at it, shading his eyes from the sun. The hull was adorned by the name ‘Esprit’. His countryman hadn’t even bothered to repaint the ship, confident that no one would challenge him. Clearly, he hadn’t been in Charaîne long enough to realise how stubborn their nobles could be about things.

The ship was coming their way, proudly flying an Aranian flag. The Esprit wasn’t as large as Aitor had imagined, only slightly bigger than their own.

Both ships were heading towards each other, as the orchestra finally ceased its activities. The instruments were rapidly packed and the musicians went to hide below decks. The rest of the crew focused on steering the ship, while Niccolo gave them what were probably very unhelpful instructions.

Aitor already drew his swords, testing their balance. Niccolo claimed it was ridiculous and that a proper swordsman only needed one sword, but Aitor had known plenty of success with them already. Irina took place next to him, longsword and shield at the ready. Her eyes were closed and she was whispering softly to herself in the Kirchheim language. While Aitor wasn’t too good at it, he caught words like ‘father’, protect’ and ‘God’. He was reasonably sure she was praying.

Sophia took place behind him. She had no visible weapons, but if she was even half as good a mage as she had claimed, she wouldn’t need any.

“Rather exciting, wouldn’t you say Aitor?” she said. “Our very first fight.”

Aitor nodded. He didn’t feel much like talking. His throat always dried up before a fight and he had a hard enough time keeping the shaking under control. As soon as he was fighting, all that fear slipped away, but the anticipation was always horrendous.

On the Esprit, several men and women were positioning themselves at the side, some of them sporting muskets. Aitor counted about twelve in total. Judging by their dark skin, they were all Aranians. Clearly Reyes had found plenty of angry fellow countrymen willing to stick it to the Charaîne.

Aitor couldn’t fault them for it. The peace treaty had been a disgrace and had only been signed because the Charaîne were perilously close to capturing the Aranian capital. The Charaîne had not been generous victors and the terms imposed would hurt Arania for years to come. It was a small surprise that Reyes had sought out other ways to get revenge.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Reyes himself was hard to miss. He stood on the stern, hands folded behind his back. He wore a massive black hat and raised a cutlass in their direction. Niccolo, never one to back down from a challenge, walked to the stern of their ship, took off his feathered hat and made a deep bow. Reyes reciprocated the gesture and then signalled his men, who raised the muskets.

“He’s no gentleman. Relying on muskets to pick someone off from afar is cowardly,” Niccolo complained.

“He’s a pirate for something I suppose,” Aitor responded.

“Nonetheless, he should hold himself to a higher standard. Sophia, are you taking care of that?” Niccolo asked, gesturing at the muskets.

Sophia nodded, raised her hands and a soft glimmer began to surround the ship. A few seconds later, the pirates fired. The shots sped towards them, but slammed harmlessly into a barrier surrounding the ship. Even from the distance, Aitor could hear the amazed cries from the other ship. He had to admit that having a mage on their side was great.

As the ships drew closer, the pirates got out grappling hooks. Sophia grinned and gave the rest of the group a questioning look.

“Should I let them?” she asked.

“Sure, we need to get our hands on them anyway. Might as well let them come to us,” Niccolo said, drawing his rapier and main-gauche.” Let’s handle this with sufficient style, shall we? We do have an audience,” he added as he gestured at the ship’s crew, who were still staring at Sophia in awe.

The grappling hooks flew from the Esprit and attached themselves to the side. The ships were drawn level and the pirates jumped across, screaming obscenities. Aitor grinned, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline. He let out a loud cry and rushed at them, his blades a blur.

Aitor found himself facing three pirates. All three of them were a bit hesitant, but whether that was because they were suddenly facing a fellow Aranian, or because Aitor was so loud, he could not tell.

He unleashed a flurry of strokes and slashes at them. Despite being outnumbered, he easily took the offence. The pirate’s cutlasses and axes were batted aside as Aitor fell into a rhythm. He moved with the swaying of the boat. He struck high, then low, then jumped backwards before launching himself at them once more.

He couldn’t help but grin. He loved the thrill of a fight. Still, these people were clearly no match for him. Their technique was sloppy. While Aitor had received formal training, these pirates had at most gotten some practical experience in the war. Indeed, given their age and the amount of scars they possessed, it was almost a certainty they’d fought for Arania.

“If you want to surrender, just say so,” Aitor said between two strokes. “I have no intention to kill anyone, especially not any countrymen.”

“Quiet traitor!” one shouted back as he struck with his axe at Aitor’s head. Aitor easily turned the blow aside. “We have no time for someone who works for our enemies.”

“The war’s over. But fine,” Aitor sighed.

He ducked under a blow and lashed out with his knee that sent his attacker stumbling. As he righted himself, he was met by the pommel of Aitor’s right blade. The man let out a pained cry and dropped to the deck.

“Are the rest of you two as stubborn? Or will you surrender?” Aitor asked, lowering his blades briefly.